Area Codes
by Emma15
Summary: Prepilot. Sam has gotten everything he ever wanted.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Supernatural.

**Author's Note**:This is slightly AU.Pre-pilot.

Ihope you enjoy!

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It didn't happen often. In fact, these days… it hardly happened at all; something he didn't know whether or not he should be grateful for or ashamed about.

Then again, when it came to his family, Sam didn't know much.

He'd always been the outsider. Always seeing the picture in a different way, always asking the wrong questions, always wanting more…

Breaking free hadn't been nearly as hard as he'd thought it would be. Comparative to ripping the Band-Aid off—one hard yank was all it took. His Dad had made it easy; the stubbornness, the yelling, the ordering, the refusal to even hear Sam out… it wasn't had to walk away from that.

And his brother—Dean had done nothing. He'd stood back and let Dad yell, let Dad order, let Dad issue is his ultimatum— he'd stood by and said not a single word. That had hurt; Sam had expected defense from Dean; Dean was always on his side…

… not that day though, that day Dean had stood back and said nothing, done nothing—a great big '_fuck you' _to his little brother and Sam had been more then happy to return the sentiment.

If Dean couldn't be bothered to stand by him, then Sam didn't need to bother either.

He'd walked away—and he hadn't looked back; not for a while. It was a Winchester trait to hold a grudge, to feed it and nurse it—to let it simmer.

His first two semesters at Stanford he'd let it simmer. It had made everything so much easier. He'd catapulted himself into his new life with no qualms whatsoever. He'd made friends and relished his classes—and when thoughts of his family meandered through his homework riddled brain he latched on to them with the single, devout purpose of shredding them to itty-bitty pieces.

He picked them apart for every fucked up thing that had ever happened in his twisted childhood—and god, was there stuff to pick apart.

And soon those meandering thoughts tapered off. Soon his mind was occupied wholly with professors, papers, exams, games, and friends; with all things "normal." Only when he let his guard down, in the shadows before sleep took over, did a voice whisper that he was a Winchester and could never escape.

His first year melted into his second and thoughts of his family ceased completely. He'd become adept at spotting their approach while they were still on the edges of his consciousness and he was good at shooting them down before they neared.

He'd been trained as a sharpshooter, after all.

Occasionally, his cell phone would ring with an out-of-state area code. He wouldn't pick up, but he couldn't stop himself from checking every few seconds for that little _you have a message _icon either.

Sometimes it would appear, sometimes it wouldn't. When it did, his heart would hammer and his hands would sweat.

Afterwards, he'd grab a beer and sit alone in his room—resolutely ignoring all emotions and memories his brother's voice resurrected.

In an hour or two he was firmly back under control, he'd delete the message and move on. There was always something to do; someone to hang out with, something to study…

So the grudge had slowly dissipated, but he was still a sharpshooter.

So days like today were rare—days when his shots went wide and the memories had clear pathways to his mind.

It was the day of his graduation party. A party Jess was throwing for him, in honor of him being Suma Cum Latah, in honor of his LSAT scores, in honor of his scholarship for law school.

All his close friends were invited, her parents were invited, his mentors were invited… everyone who'd had a hand in his getting to this point.

Everyone, except his family.

They weren't invited. They didn't know. They didn't know about all of Sam's accomplishments—his friends, his professors… they all commented on how proud his family must be.

But… his family… they didn't know.

They didn't know that yesterday he'd proposed to Jess, that she'd said yes, that tonight they were announcing it.

And that hadn't bothered him; it **didn't **bother him. Why should it? He hadn't spoken to either of them in nearly four years.

Dean had stopped calling about two years ago.

"Sam?"

Her voice broke him out of his reverie and he jumped, almost dropping the glass in his hand.

"Sorry," she murmured as she approached, "Didn't mean to startle you…"

He sent her a small smile, ignoring the tiny voice in the dark recess of his mind that taunted him: _you should have heard her approach…_

"What's goin on?" she asked, settling herself next to him on the sofa, "You look like you're in a funk—but you can't be in a funk, because in three hours and twenty-eight minutes we're celebrating the wonder that is _you_." She teased gently, reaching out and taking the glass from his hand.

He studied her as she smiled and brought it up to her lips. Jess amazed him. So intelligent, so understanding, so intuitive— so blind to what he really was.

He was always expecting her to turn around and just—_see _him. See the horrors he'd done, the lies he'd told, the lie he _was…_

But she didn't. Jess saw what he wanted her to see, like everyone else, like his father had taught him to do…

"Sam?" she murmured again, setting the glass on the coffee table. Her voice concerned now, her hand reaching out to rest on his arm.

He blinked and pushed the thoughts away, letting his smile grow, "I'm fine." He told her.

She grinned suddenly, brilliantly, "Liar—you nervous?" she asked.

_Nervous?_

Why the hell would he be—

Oh, right— announcing the engagement, she was so giddy about it that she expected him to feel something along those lines as well.

And he did. Sort of.

He was happy… pleased… content with the decision… he was happy, pleased, and content with it all… with everything that was going on in his life at the moment, it was all so very "normal" that how could he not be?

She was watching him, expectantly and Sam shrugged, focusing his mind on being the _Sam _Jess had come to know, "A little I guess…" he murmured, "I'm still not sure your Dad likes me."

She chuckled, cuddling closer to him, "Are you kidding…? You're the perfect son-in-law… kind, polite, intelligent." She laughed again, "…he likes you better than he likes me."

Sam laughed too, because that's what she expected and wondered why it was so hard today…

Usually he delighted in it— being Sam Winchester: Average-All-American-Ivy-leaguer. There was something about today though, something that made it hard to slip into the role. A role he'd perfected to the extent where sometimes he even forgot it was a role. Maybe that's what had happened—he'd forgotten for so long that he was playing a role, over two years, that the shock of remembering had him numb.

"Seriously though," Jess murmured, her smile fading, "What's up?"

"Nothing."

… _the best lie has a grain of truth in it…_

His father's words floated through his mind and he almost winced, it didn't stop him from using the lesson, though.

"… not really anyway… I just… I feel a little _off_… there's so much goin on…" he added, to appease her.

"Everything is going to be perfect," she told him, shifting so their gazes met.

She opened her mouth, intent on saying something else—a pounding at the front door interrupted her.

She rolled her eyes, "That'll be Jake, he was gonna bring some extra chairs…" the pounding sounded again, "… and he has no manners…" she muttered, getting up and heading for the door.

At the threshold she paused and looked back at him, grinning, her eyes sparkling, "… everthing'll be perfect," she repeated, "… you'll see… happily-ever-after, and all that…" she finished, before sprinting around the corner towards the front door.

He watched her go. Heard her greet Jake in the entryway, heard the banging of chairs against the walls as Jake brought them in, heard her reproach him, heard him laugh…

Ordinary sounds— not the growling of a beast or the hissing of a Banshee or the howling of a poltergeist; not the sharpening of knives or cocking of guns—just ordinary sounds.

Just like he'd wanted—he'd gotten everything he ever wanted.

_So what's with the pissy attitude?_

The question rippled through him and he made a conscious effort not to acknowledge it.

It wouldn't have been so bad if it had been his inner voice asking the question; the _bad_, was that the question was posed in the voice of his brother.

Dean— who had always been able to cut through his _funks_ with all the gentility and subtly of trucker wielding a sledgehammer in a crystal shop.

Dean—who wasn't here; wouldn't be here tonight, didn't know…

Slowly, Sam drew in a long breath and closed his eyes. It was time to put those sharpshooter skills to work again, time to get back into the role… Sam Winchester: Average-All-American-Ivy-Leaguer, who didn't care that his Dad and his brother weren't coming, didn't care that they weren't going to tell him they were proud, didn't care that everyone believed he wasn't close to his family, didn't care that he was starting to fear they were right…

Slowly, he released the breath and opened his eyes. Sam Winchester: Average-All-American-Ivy-Leaguer didn't have a past. He was all present, all future…

… and he'd gotten everything he'd ever wanted…

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	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Supernatural.

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It always happened at dusk.

He tried to keep himself occupied against it, to be busy or asleep or hell, even unconscious would work. Anything, but idle. Anything, but sitting still in a chair staring out the grimy window of another nameless motel with nothing to do, but think…

It was his own fault really. He should have stayed out of California. How hard was it to avoid the state anyway? It's not like it was in the middle of anything… it was the edge, literally—and for him, in more ways then one.

But poltergeist's existed in the sunshine state too, and when you had a hysterical mother on the phone because her child had just been locked in a cellar by one, telling her you were hoping to avoid the state at all costs because your baby brother lived there just wasn't an option.

Dad was in Missouri. He was in Colorado. Colorado happened to be closer to California than Missouri— fuck.

It was all he'd been thinking as he drove. Fuck. He really didn't want to be in California.

But a job was a job. And really—the kid had been three, so the poltergeist had to **die**— so to speak, anyway.

The kid had also taken a liking to him, she was after all female— so he couldn't really blame her. She'd requested with a shy smile that _Mis-ther Win'es-ther_ come to her soccer game the next afternoon. Her mom had pushed the request with a grateful smile and the offer of a home-cooked meal and hell— it's not like he had anywhere else to be.

So he'd stuck around and gone to a soccer game today. He'd sat on bleachers and watched an array of tiny people kick around a black and white ball; and every so often the tiny person who'd invited him would stop, search the crowd and wave at him. He would wave back.

It had been a nice day.

It was dusk now. He should be getting on the road…

… except he really had no where to go. Dad would have a job for him—if he called Dad.

If he stopped staring out the fuckin window and got up off his ass to find his cell phone and dial the number— that would help.

But it was dusk…

And at dusk… he always missed his little brother most.

Dusk conjured up images of two boy's home from school, of book-bags dropped on the couch and the microwave nuking dinner. It made him remember a little boy who didn't understand the words, _not now, I have homework, _of a little boy who'd had seven hundred questions and two dimples, of a little boy who couldn't get away fast enough…

Sam had cut the ties that bound them with one surgical strike and hadn't looked back. He'd set his sights on "normal" and goddamn anything and any_one_ that got in his way.

Sometimes, usually after a particularly brutal battle with something undead that just wouldn't _die, _Dean felt anger towards his baby brother… sometimes, he felt… something bordering on betrayal with a taint of something darker... something deeper than he could control…

But the feeling would fade… it had to, because ultimately, Dean adored his little brother and as pat as the sentiment seemed, he really did just want the kid to be happy.

He could still see it; the rage that had drummed in Sam's eyes that day. He and Dad had hurled torrents of accusations at each other. Slicing into each other, making each other bleed—and Dean had felt each set of wounds like they were his own. He'd bled for them both; caught in the middle, as always, he'd done the only thing he could do—he'd remained silent.

Other times he'd sided with Sam. Sam was his little brother, Dad had taught him, _trained _him, to protect Sam… and Dean had learned the lesson well. He protected his brother— even from their father…

… but that day… that day the words had stuck in his throat. To speak, to take Sam's side would have been to help the boy tear himself away; and Sam had needed no help.

He'd done a pretty good job on his own.

As long as he lived, Dean would never forget that last glare his brother had shot him before turning away.

Angry, resentful, accusing… _how could you just stand there_? The eyes had yelled. _I won't forget this, _they'd screamed, _I won't forgive this._

And true to his Winchester genes Sam hadn't. Four years and not one peep out of his baby brother; Sam might as well have dropped off the face of the earth. Dean had tried—at first. He would call and leave a message, tell his little brother where he was, what he was doing, what the weather was like…

But the calls were never returned… and each time he bled a little more.

Sometimes leaving a message required more energy then he had to spare, sometimes he just wanted to hear his brother's voice—those times were the worst, because something in the back of his mind reminded him that Sam never had that problem… that _Sam_ never needed to hear _his_ voice… it taunted him with that weakness.

So he forced himself to stop. He forced himself to stop being weak. It was only times like now—dusk, when the memories washed over him, that he was in danger of giving in.

He wouldn't give in though—he knew that. It had become easier to ignore the urge, he wasn't sure, though, if that was something to be grateful for or ashamed about.

Truth was, in an effort to miss his little brother less—he'd started pushing memories of Sammy away, started dwelling on them less, remembering less…

Keeping busy at dusk helped, blasting his music helped, going after every evil bastard he could find helped—these days, it was rare when the images of the dark-haired youth flittered through his mind.

He sighed roughly, running a hand over his face. He really needed to get off his ass and do something. He needed to drum up the energy first— it was this fuckin state… god, he hated California.

It made him numb.

A surreal feeling he couldn't shake would wash over him; brought on by a voice, a feeling, an instinct that would whisper continuously—_Sammy's here…_

An instinct, a feeling, a voice that lied to him… Sammy didn't exist anymore.

Sammy had wanted "normal."

Sammy was never further away than when Dean was in California…

Drawing in a deep breath, Dean forced himself to get up. Technically, the room was paid up for the night, but the need to leave was so suddenly overpowering that a technicality like that wasn't going to stop him.

With the efficiency of an expert he severed any and all thoughts of his little brother. Quickly, he picked up the few belongings he'd strewn around the room, stuffed them in his duffle, and collected his weapons.

Action. Movement. Hunting. _That_ kept unwantedthoughts at bay.

He'd call his Dad from the road, he thought as he checked out of the motel and headed for the Impala, or hell, he could stop somewhere and find a job on his own… it wasn't odd for him. He and Dad had gone weeks in the past with little to no conversation. It made the business a little lonely, but Dean enjoyed following his own gut and not being ordered around.

As he ran the possibilities through in his mind, he settled himself and his stuff into the car. He turned the ignition and pulled out of the lot.

The sun had set completely and his thoughts once again tried to return to the dark-haired urchin that had once dogged his every step.

He refused to acknowledge thoughts of his little brother though. Drawing in a slow breath he stopped trying to figure out what he'd do next. He turned off every thought save that of getting the fuck out of California and turned AC/DC on as loud as it would go.

It had taken Dean years of unanswered, unacknowledged phone calls, but he'd gotten the point.

Sam didn't need him, had stopped needing him years ago. Sam didn't want him around, didn't want their life, didn't want Dean _in _his life. Sam wanted "normal," had run towards "normal."

He'd made his choice, had made it clear, hadn't looked back…

And Dean had bled enough.

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TBC.

**_Please Review!_**

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	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: I do not own "Supernatural." (I always get the urge to write 'duh' after these things... hee ;-))

**Author's Note**: Wow! and Yay! Thank you so much for your reviews! I hope you all enjoy this chapter. One chapter left-- I'll post it tomorrow (maybe even later today). Again, thanks for reviewing :D

Happy Reading!

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It was one thing to be betrayed by your brother, to have the kid you'd practically raised take everything of yourself you'd given him and toss it out without a second glance.

It was one thing to be betrayed by your body, to have it insist on driving in the direction said little brother currently resided.

It was one thing to be betrayed by your thoughts, to have them repeatedly turning back to the same one thing you wanted to avoid thinking about.

But when a man's _car _betrayed him—that's when you knew the world was shit and it was time to call it a day.

It was almost midnight and his baby had just decided to _stop._ No sputtering, no smoke, nothing… just stop… on a corner. If he didn't know any better he would say that the car had, in fact, _decided _to stop.

He knew better though. His baby wasn't possessed. Her battery had just died… it had died in Sam's neighborhood. The neighborhood he probably shouldn't even know about let alone be driving in.

Some instincts were too deeply embedded to ignore, to avoid; and John Winchester had forged in his eldest son the compulsion to check on his little brother.

John Winchester also had no qualms whatsoever about any legality when it came to checking up on said younger son. The Stanford University database was a fountain of information concerning the youngest Winchester— grades, class schedules, off campus housing…

On every trip John had made to California in the past four years, he'd been sure to routinely inspect Sam's haunts. The place he lived, the place he worked, the buildings he took classes in—all carefully studied and investigated—just in case, to be safe.

And despite all their problems, Dean had found himself doing the same thing. He doubted Sam would appreciate finding him two blocks outside his apartment, though, that might disrupt his "normal" life.

He sighed roughly, looking around. He'd managed to roll his baby into a semi-parked state where she wouldn't be in the way, but that still left the little problem of getting the hell out of here.

Calling a tow truck was out of the question—weapons in the trunk probably wouldn't go over too well.

He needed to jumpstart his baby, he had the cables to do it—all he needed was to flag a car down for help. Apparently, though, cars were hard to find at almost midnight in this area.

Of course, there were other ways. He could always… _borrow _power from one of the parked cars. It's not like he was going to steal anything valuable—and it wasn't like there was anyone awake to see him do it.

He smirked a little, as he turned around and selected a parked car not too far from where he was standing. He'd just unlock it, hotwire it, move it close to the Impala, borrow the power, move it back, fix the cables, and lock it back up— no sweat… yeah, _right._

With a long, weary sigh Dean set to work— fuck, this night was shit and California _sucked._

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"I'm telling you this is a good idea."

"The party's over."

"We still have to congratulate him."

He heard them at least three minutes before he saw them. Something he was thankful for, it gave him time to put his things away and put some distance between himself and car he'd temporarily uh, repositioned. He'd shut the hood on both cars and carefully leaned back against his baby, pulling out his cell phone and glancing at the time, noticing for the first time that it had no signal.

The people were giggling loudly and they're voices seemed to echo in the quietly, sleepy street.

"We'll get yelled at."

"But they'll feed us."

"I _am _hungry."

"Walk faster."

Dean continued to wait. He watched as the couple turned the corner. He'd expected them to be staggering, they sure as hell _sounded _drunk, but instead the couple was walking calmly, smiling at each other, holding hands.

They appeared blissfully unaware that they sounded drunk off their asses—which for some reason pissed Dean off. If you were going to _sound_ drunk at least have the decency to _be _drunk, otherwise just… shut-up.

Of course, his lack of tolerance could have to do with his current predicament.

They were chattering more quietly now, having a disagreement about something if the girl's hand motions could be believed.

He drew a quiet breath and pulled up a charming smile. "Hi," he called out in his most friendly, I'm-not-a-psycho-killer voice. They noticed him then, and he nearly rolled his eyes. He'd been standing here the whole time and they'd _just _seen him. Hadn't these people ever heard of neighborhood patrol?

They slowed their steps and stopped talking, eyeing him warily.

He took the fact that they hadn't turned around screaming as a positive sign.

"Hello," the man said, his tone a bit cautious, but still friendly, "Car problems?" he asked, his gaze sliding past Dean to the car he was leaning against.

Dean nodded, letting a sheepish look steal over his face, "Yeah. She died on me."

The man's eyes lingered on his baby, "She's beautiful." He murmured; and Dean figured that finally something had gone right this night—someone who appreciated his baby.

The girl jammed her elbow into the guy's gut, "You're drooling," she hissed at him, before turning back to Dean.

"You call a tow truck?" she asked him, her eyes studying him.

He stood up a little straighter, the girl's eyes making him feel a little uncomfortable, "No reception." He told her, showing her his cell phone, grateful for the lucky coincidence.

"Yeah, cell reception sucks around here," the guy added, taking a step closer. Dean almost smiled, the guy was totally enamored with his baby.

He stepped to the side a little, silent permission for the guy to get a closer look. The man took another step, only to be held back by the girl.

She gave him a pointed look, then looked at Dean again, she pinned bright blue eyes on him, "What's your name?" she asked.

The directness of the question startled him a little and he responded automatically, "Dean." He answered, then almost winced, hopefully he wouldn't have to use an alias tonight.

She didn't notice the gesture, instead she nodded, "Dean, I'm Kerrie. This is Doug." She stated, simply. "We're kind of in a rush—"

"Jeez, Kerrie, can you be ruder?" Doug hissed at her.

She sent him a scalding look, "Yeah, I can." She hissed, "Let me finish." Her gaze returned to Dean and he couldn't help, but smirk. _Kerrie _was obviously in about as pleasant a mood as he was in—somehow that pleased him.

Misery did love company after all.

Her gaze met his again, "We have to get a friend's place—"

"The party's over." Doug interrupted.

"— but if you'll wait here, we'll give you a boost on our way back. We parked over that way." She stated, as though Doug hadn't spoken.

Dean smiled, "That would be great." He told her, and it most certainly would be great—if he were going to be here when they got back.

Which he wasn't.

Doug was eyeing his baby again, "She's a real classic you got there," he stated, coming closer.

"Yeah, my baby's usually better behaved than this," he commented, with a sheepish grin.

Doug nodded, reaching out and laying his hand on the hood of the car, "What year?"

"'67."

Doug nodded again, his eyes studying the Impala.

Kerrie sighed, "Let's go." She stated, reaching out and pulling him away. Dean almost laughed, _Kerrie _was clearly **not **enamored with his baby.

Doug turned to her a little, almost pouting, "I don't see why we can't just leave it till tomorrow."

"It is tomorrow."

"You know what I mean. Sam won't mind. He probably didn't even notice we weren't there."

"Of _course _he noticed we weren't there. He notices _everything."_

"It's past midnight. Sam's bedtime is like eleven."

"Don't let him hear you say that. Plus they're probably cleaning up."

"We'll get yelled at."

Dean vaguely registered the fact that once again Kerrie bestowed a scalding look on Doug.

Most of his energy went into reminding himself to breathe, reminding himself that there was more then one _Sam _out there in the world, reminding himself that he was an idiot who should know better—because it was just _that _kind of night.

"Listen," he interrupted, "You two go along. I'll be fine. _Really_…" He stated, unable to keep a certain taint of panic from his voice.

He wasn't supposed to be here.

He wasn't ready to be here.

Kerrie stared at him, "Where're you from?" she asked, again in that same direct tone.

Dean barely stopped himself from answering, clamping down hard at the last minute. Pausing a moment, he took a slow breath and then shrugged, "Here and there… I'm just passing through."

She stared at him a moment, before nodding, accepting his words.

"I'll be fine." Dean pressed, notching the smile up some, "I remember there was a 7-11 over that way. I'll just wait till sunrise and head over, no biggee." He cajoled.

"We'll give a boost when we get back," Doug stated, not at all fazed by Kerrie's heated glares, "We should be back in like twenty minutes. We're only going two more blocks that way. And we're gonna get kicked out—and yelled at." He added pointedly.

Dean told his mouth to be quiet, to shut the hell up—that he wasn't supposed to be here, but still he somehow heard himself speak, "Why you gonna get yelled at?"

"Friend threw a party tonight… we kinda didn't make it." Doug stated simply, "He's gonna pissed. It was kinda a big deal."

"Naw, Sam's gonna be fine with it. He'll just shake his head and say something Sam-like and be done with it. _Jess _is the one that's gonna be pissed," Kerrie corrected, she threw a smirk at Dean, "She's the one who planned the party." She explained to him.

Dean swallowed hard, willing himself to nod and let them go, but instead he heard himself asking more questions, "Party's over kinda early?" He prodded.

"Ahh, well it's not _that_ kind of party." She said her eyes suddenly twinkling in a way that made her seem much more attractive, "It was a _dinner_ party celebrating the fact that Sam's uber-smart."

"And that he finally got his ass into gear and proposed." Doug added.

Kerrie's smile widened, "Yeah, that too." It was obvious she was pleased about that.

Dean on the other hand felt like he'd been sucker punched.

His little brother had proposed?

_Maybe it's not him._

His more naïve side whispered.

But he knew it was—it was Sammy, he knew it, could feel it and after all, it was just _that_ kind of night.

"Yeah, so she threw this dinner party," Kerrie continued, "And we didn't come. She'll be pissed."

She took a step closer to him suddenly, "Hey, you okay?" she asked, her voice suddenly concerned.

"You look kinda green suddenly?" Doug added.

Dean smirked, using the careless shrug he'd perfected long ago, "Yeah, yeah…" he murmured, "I'm fine…"

He wasn't fine.

But he would be— if they would just _leave._ So that _he_ could leave.

They eyed him in silence for a moment and Dean sensed the invitation that was about to be issued—an invitation that he couldn't accept. One he might not be strong enough to refuse.

"Go on…" He added, smiling at them now, "You don't want to be any later, do you?" He asked.

"No, we don't," Kerrie agreed, she shot Doug a look.

He shrugged, then glanced back at Dean, "Why don't you--" he began and Dean panicked.

He cut the guy off, "I'm good here." He stated, in a voice that brooked no discussion.

They both jumped a little at his tone. They stared at him a moment, before sharing a look and looking back to him.

"Okay then," Kerrie said breezily, "We'll be going."

Dean nodded, feeling a little bad that he'd snapped, but really—**fuck.** They were about to invite him to _Sam's._

"We'll give you a boost on our way back," Doug repeated, still kindly.

Dean shrugged, "Uh, thanks…" he said lamely, as they walked past him… past him—towards Sam.

They were going to see his brother…

"He's pretty happy, then huh?" He heard himself ask, "This uh, Sam guy—with his fiancée and all?"

They turned back to him, eyeing him strangely a moment, before Kerrie answered, "Yeah…" she said, "Sam's golden right now. He's got it all."

Dean swallowed hard, "Good. Good. People, should uh, be happy." He trailed off.

Again they stared at him and he knew he deserved it—he was behaving like a lunatic.

"Yeah, yeah… they uh, should," Kerrie stated, obviously humoring him.

Doug chuckled, "World peace and all that." He murmured.

Dean forced a chuckle and watched as they turned headed up the block, watched as they turned the corner, watched as they went to congratulate his little brother on his upcoming wedding.

He reminded himself yet again to breathe; reminded himself that it was to be expected—after all, that is what "normal" people did.

It didn't help though. It didn't diminish the shaky feeling that was spreading through him or the shallow breaths he was drawing or the stinging that had materialized behind his eyes.

Sam had proposed to someone. He was getting married. He was going to belong to _another_ _family… _

The realization stung, _burned _even— stripped away all the lies and left behind nothing, but a lone stranger stalking the steps of someone he once knew.

With a nearly audible _snap _and a determined turn towards the Impala—away from the street— Dean shut down all thoughts of his little brother.

Focusing instead on re-hooking his baby to the other car, he needed to be gone by the time those two came strolling back down the block.

**Fuck.**

He hated California.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Supernatural.

**Author's Note**: Wow! Thank you so much for all the reviews! They really prompted me to finish this tonight! And yes, it is finished. This is the last chapter... I warned you guys not to get your hopes up! ;-)

I really hope you enjoy this. I may have gotten a tad carried away with the angst at the end, but shrugs I love the angst almost as much as I love HurtDean. Hee.

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"You. Are. Late." Jess said when she opened the door and found two of her wayward friends on the doorstep. 

"_You're_ getting married!" Kerrie cried, throwing her arms around Jess's neck and squeezing.

Jess laughed, as she accepted the hug; moving aside so Doug could walk in. "You RSVP'd," she admonished, even as she pulled back with a grin on her face.

"We meant to come." Doug stated, "Really… jeez, Kerrie, I wanna hug her too." He grouched, grinning as he pulled Jess from girl, "Congratulations!" He said, happily, pulling the small woman into an embrace.

"_Meaning to come_ is not the purpose of RSVP-ing," Jess continued, when Doug released her, then her grin widened, "And thank you." She acknowledged, then scowled again, "We missed you."

Doug laughed, "Whoa girl, I can only do one set of emoticons a minute…" he teased, "Smile, scowl, smile, scowl—pick one…"

Jess rolled her eyes, and opened her mouth to speak, but someone beat her to it.

"Well, look who decided to show up."

"Lacey!" Kerrie gasped, staring at the woman a moment, before giving a happy shriek and running over to her friend.

"Lacey RSVP'd— and actually came." Jess stated, watching as they all greeted each other, "Imagine that?" she added dryly.

"Mike and I are staying the weekend." Lacey told Kerrie and Doug, grinning as she and Kerrie walked over to the sofa.

"Mike's here?" Doug asked, looking around.

Jess landed a light punch to his shoulder, "Mike RSVP'd." she stated.

"You guys made it!" Jake cried, as he entered the room, "Better late than never I guess." He added, grinning as he too welcomed his friends.

"Oh they're not late, they're right in time— for clean-up," Sam stated wryly as he walked into the living room with Mike by his side.

Kerrie launched herself off the sofa and wrapped her arms around Sam's middle, "Congratulations, Einstein." She murmured.

Sam laughed, accepting the hug, "Thanks."

"We were actually hoping you'd feed us." Doug said cheekily, after he too congratulated Sam.

Sam rolled his eyes, "Leftovers in the kitchen." He told the man.

"They shouldn't get food—the party's over." Jess grouched, but her blue eyes twinkled as Sam reached her and sat down beside her.

"Sam gave a speech, guys…" Mike teased, "It was all mushy…"

"That's 'cause Sam _is_ mush," Jake quipped, sitting on the arm of sofa.

Sam scowled, "Asshole."

"He's just callin like it is," Mike continued, grinning.

"Just because Sam is capable of expressing sentiment, doesn't mean he's a mush," Lacey interjected, then pinned Mike with a glare, "It means he's worthy of getting married."

Mike rolled his eyes, "I express sentiment." He grouched.

"Uh-huh," Lacey murmured.

Jess looked around and grinned, "I'm glad you guys made it…" she murmured, looking at Kerrie and Doug, "… even if you _are _super late… it makes the night complete and all…" she continued, reaching over and grasping one ofSam's hands, "This night was about all the people we love."

Sam tensed slightly, his smile dimming an iota, but no one noticed. His friends were all buzzed from simply being in the same room.

"You two are so much in love it sorta sickens me," Jake quipped.

They all rolled their eyes, before Lacey looked around and gushed with the thought that was running through all their heads, "It's great that we're all together again..."

"Hey you and Mike are the ones that moved away." Jake added.

"Let's not start the, who-broke-up-the-gang-first-talk, okay." Kerrie interrupted, "Last time you two—" she pointed at Doug and Mike, "… yelled so loudly we got kicked out of that bar, it was embarrassing." The two men grinned sheepishly at her and Kerrie rolled her eyes, transferring her gaze to Sam and Jess, "So have you picked a date?"

Jess shrugged, "We haven't decided yet…"

The conversation flowed among the friends. They all took perches around the living room; catching up on their lives since graduation, on the plans they were putting into action, the plans that were still in the making.

Doug got up and went to the kitchen, he returned with leftovers for all— which were promptly consumed even though everyone had already eaten. It was comfortable and familiar and the last remnants of Sam's earlier unease melted away.

This is where he belonged; this was the world he knew, the world he wanted…

They were discussing the possibility of taking a ski trip together in January when suddenly Doug bolted upright from the sofa, "Oh shit!" he cried, glancing quickly at the clock.

"Shit, shit, shit," he repeated, getting up, "Jeez, Kerrie we completely forgot!" He told her, "It's been almost an hour…"

Kerrie suddenly looked chagrined too, "Aw man… you think he's still there?"

"Where else would he go?" Doug said heading for the front door.

"Whoa, whoa! Where you rushing off to?"

"What's going?"

The questions zipped out of the group and Doug paused, turning to look back at them, it was Kerrie that answered though, she too was getting up, "There's this guy a few blocks away who's car died, we told him we'd give him a boost on our way back…"

"Oh."

"Jeez, I thought you'd left the stove on or something…"

"You stay here Ker, I'll go with him," Jake offered.

Doug grinned suddenly, "Actually, Mike… dude, _you_ should come with me… this guy's car…" he make kissing sound, "… perfection."

Mike's eyes brightened, "Really?"

"Chevy, Impala, cherry black, great condition… seriously, gorgeous."

"Think he'd sell?" Mike asked eagerly, standing.

"No way," Kerrie cut in with a laugh, before Doug could answer, "He called it _baby_ and referred to it as a 'she.'"

"Sam you okay?" Jess asked, her tone suddenly worried, she'd glanced up at him smiling only to find him very pale, his dark eyes wider then usual.

He blinked a little, drawing a slow breath—

… trying to reign in his thoughts… thoughts that had exploded into a myriad of memories when Doug had said the words, _Chevy_ and_ Impala._

It wasn't him, Sam told himself, it wasn't _Dean_—it couldn't be… it **wasn't**… Dean wouldn't be here… Dean was somewhere else… there was more than one cherry-black Impala out there in the world…

"Sam?" Jess asked, squeezing his hand, but he ignored her.

His eyes went to Doug, "Wha-what year?" he croaked out, his heart beating unusually fast, "What year is the Impala?"

Doug frowned, "Dude you okay? You look like you're gonna pass out of something?"

"What year?" he snapped.

"'67." Doug answered, still frowning.

There was more than one cherry-black 1967 Chevy Impala in the world, he told himself again, pulling away from Jess as he stood and turned his back on his friends.

He needed to calm down… to gain perspective. Dean was not the only person on the planet that owned that kind of car, he wasn't the only person on the planet who would refer to it as his baby or as a "she," he wasn't the only person on the planet that would drive it in this neighborhood…

… god, _Dean…_

It was his brother… he knew it, felt it, _sensed _it…

"Sam?" Jess's voice was hesitant now; he could sense the tension in the room, "What's wrong?"

His brother had been here, he thought suddenly, the words almost slipping past his lips; but he clamped down on them. Held them inside—they would lead to questions; questions he couldn't answer.

His brother had been here.

The appropriate word being, _had; _because there was no doubt in his mind that wherever Doug and Kerrie had left his brother— Dean wasn't there anymore.

"Sam, you're scaring me…" Jess's voice was soft, right behind him and he felt her warm hand on his back. He turned slowly and studied her, her eyes were concerned, brow furrowed, her lips pursed.

He couldn't tell her. Not ever. Dean was part of _that _life—and he would never show Jess _that _life. Not ever.

"Sorry…" he murmured, pulling up a small smirk onto his face, "… just kinda got overwhelmed suddenly…" he murmured.

"By needing to know the year of this guys' Chevy?" Doug chirped.

"Dean." Kerrie stated and Sam visibly started. Jolting in place, his eyes zeroing in on her with the sharpness and intensity of the hunter she didn't know he was.

"What?" he asked, his question dangerously soft and everyone in the room sat up a little straighter, studied him a bit closer—

Kerrie frowned a little, "His name's Dean—the guy. He told us." She said, "Sam you okay?" she asked.

He nodded, swallowing hard, drawing in a deep breath—willing himself to turn the images off…

"Sam!" Jess hissed, her voice alarmed.

"I'm fine… I just…" he stuttered, feeling almost disoriented.

"Just what?" Doug asked, staring at him.

Sam shrugged, locking eyes with his friend, "I like cars too." He offered lamely, knowing how absolutely inadequate that explanation sounded.

They were all looking at him like he was about to pass out, like he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, like they didn't know him at all…

"Uh, okay, then…" Doug drawled, "Lot's of liquor served at this party, huh?" he joked.

"Shut-up," Kerrie hissed at him, then transferred her worried gaze back to Sam, "Are you sure you're fine?"

"Yeah?" Jess added, her hand on his arm, "You've been acting weird all day…"

"I'm fine." Sam repeated, "I'm getting a… a headache…" he added, swallowing hard again. Swallowing past the emotion building up in his throat…

Dean had been here.

The thought was swirling around in his head and he suddenly… suddenly just… _missed _his brother…

"I'm going," Doug stated, drawing his gaze away from Sam.

"I'm going with you," Mike stated, "Maybe I can talk this Dean-guy into selling…"

The idea of Dean selling the Impala made a burst of hysterical laughter rise up in Sam's throat—he didn't release it, but he could feel it there nonetheless.

Not that they were going to find Dean, he knew…

… but if they did, and they offered—his brother's look would be priceless; a cross between _are-you-fuckin-crazy _and ­_yeah-she's-that-gorgeous._

"Let's go then," Doug stated, "Poor guy's been out there long enough."

Sam's instinct to say, don't bother, was strong, but he knew he wouldn't be able to justify that response. So he watched as the three guys sidled up to the door…

"This uh, _poor guy_," he heard himself asking, even though he hadn't processed the thought, "… he uh, he look… okay?"

"He's hot if that's what you mean?" Kerrie quipped, her worried look melting into a grin, "Delicious, even." She murmured,

Doug scowled in her direction, "He was not."

"Was too… all that leather and that smile… and those _eyes… _whoa," she said winking at the Jess and Lacey, "Now that I think about it… maybe the three of us should go too… it'd be treat… gold eyes, I swear…" she purred, "… _gold…"_.

Sam couldn't help the smirk that lit his face; Dean would love to know he'd been described as _delicious. _

But the smirk faded as he met Doug's eyes again, "Tha-that's not what I mean…" he prodded.

Doug shrugged, "Don't worry man… he didn't seem the serial killer type." He joked, figuring Sam was concerned because his friends were meeting a stranger at night, "… seemed nice, not really in a hurry; like he didn't have anywhere to be…"

Lacey sighed, "Sounds nice…" she commented.

Mike nodded, "Yeah, no where to be…"

Jake chuckled, "… no deadlines to meet…"

"Lucky guy…" Jess murmured.

"Who's probably bored," Doug stated, "We should go..." he said, then looked around and grinned, "Sam… you uh, _wanna _stay behind with the woman?" he teased.

Sam blinked, realizing that both Jake and Mike were heading out with Doug.

His stomach flipped—go with them? To where Dean was?

_Dean's gone._

A voice whispered, a voice that knew his brother… knew that no way in hell would Dean sit around and wait for strangers to get back to _help _him.

Jake rolled his eyes, "Dude, she'll still be here when you get back." He stated, mock disgust in his voice, figuring Sam didn't want to leave Jess.

Jess chuckled, "Go on. The girls and I have stuff to discuss anyway…"

"Yeah," Lacey purred, "Golden and _delicious _stuff."

Mike scowled. The others laughed and suddenly Sam found himself heading down the front steps, the guys around him, shoving and teasing each other like they were still at school; like nothing had changed, like they'd known each other forever and would know each other forever…

Except they didn't…

They didn't know him. They would never know him.

They were on the street then, walking down the block. Mike asking how much he should offer guy, Doug saying that Kerrie was probably right, Jake saying maybe they could talk the guy into it …

"Sam you got any input, here?" Mike asked, as they neared the corner, "You are the genius after all." He teased.

"Yeah, impart some of that psychological knowledge you gained from Prof. White… anything we can do to get this guy to sell?" Jake asked, grinning, teasing.

Professor Albert White had taught Sam's first psychology class. Sam had been fascinated during it— fascinated by the insights it gave him into his father, into Dean, into himself. He knew as he read articles and books and watched films that the three of them would be a dream case study—one only he had access to, one that he could never reveal…

Prof. White had encouraged his interest, had guided him, mentored him…

Sam swallowed hard, "Um, well…" he stammered, trying to pull himself back into the role… but it just… it wasn't working.

His steps slowed as they approached the corner, his heart pounding in his ears.

"Dude? You sure you're okay?" Jake asked.

"'Course he's okay." Mike answered, "He's got a scholarship to one of the best law school's in the country, a hot fiancée, and the three of us as his best friends… what more could he possibly want?" he asked.

"That _is _true," Doug answered, "Although I bet he could do without _you_." He added, shoving the other man in the shoulder.

"I know I could," Jake added.

"You all would _lost _without me!"

"More like we'd be sober more often…"

Sam felt as if he were somehow detached from the scene playing out before him. A surreal feeling that he was observing them, but not a part of them… never really a part of them…

They rounded the corner.

They would never really know him…

"Where the hell did he go?" Doug asked, staring at the spot where the Impala should be.

"Are you sure it wasn't in the other direction?" Mike asked.

"Dude, it's not like I'm not drunk!" Doug scowled, walking faster and looking up and down the block as if the Impala were hiding, "He was right here…"

"Aw man, I was really excited about seeing it too…"

"I thought you said the car was dead?"

Doug frowned, "It was. He said he might go to the 7-11 and call for a tow, but… the car would still be here…"

"He's gone." Sam whispered, the first coherent words he'd said since leaving the apartment.

The three men shifted to stare at him—they were a silent a moment, before nodding and erupting into theories of where "he" could have gone and how he'd gotten the car to start again and how much Mike had wanted to see it…

Sam barely heard them; their words fading as he turned towards the street; shifting his body so he could see down the road.

He was gone. Sam had _known_ he would be gone. So he didn't understand the grief that was welling up inside him, didn't understand the stinging behind his eyes, or the tightness of his throat. He didn't understand the urge to run down the street and scream his brother's name and _demand _that Dean get _the fuck back here right this fuckin second…_

_No, you don't want that._

The rational part of him corrected. The part of him that was Sam Winchester: Average-All-American-Ivy-Leaguer. The part of him that knew Dean's presence in his life would provoke questions—questions he wouldn't want to answer and problems—problems he didn't want…

_That_ part of Sam told him that no, he didn't want his brother back here right this fuckin second—he just _thought _he did.

He just _thought _that he would trade all the condescending, knowing smiles bestowed him on him tonight by his professors for one of Dean's patented all-knowing, smart-ass smirks.

He just _thought _that he would trade the streams of praise he'd received from Jess and all their friends tonight for the three little words from Dean that had always meant the world to him: _you did good._

He just _thought _that he would trade tonight's dinner party with all the polite, praising words and proud, hearty handshakes it had brought with it, for one chuckle from Dean as his older brother swatted the back of his head and handed him a beer.

He didn't _really _want these—he _couldn't_ want these things… because these things were just a part of something bigger—of a world he wasn't ever going to re-join…

"Sam? You coming?" Doug asked, his friend was suddenly at his side, his hand on Sam's shoulder.

Sam jumped a little, startled out of his thoughts, "Yeah, yea… you guys… just go on ahead… I need a little… space…" he finished, "Time to clear my head."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. I'll be right there." He added, forcing himself to sound carefree as he turned to face the other two. They were eyeing him with concern.

"Too bad 'bout the car, Mike," he said, trying to sound sympathetic, to sound like the "Sam"they'd come to know, the "Sam"they were friends with… the "Sam"they knew…

Mike shrugged, and said something that made the others laugh, so Sam smiled, even though his brain didn't register exactly what it was Mike had said. A few moments later they were moving back towards the apartment and Sam was free to let the smile melt off his face.

He didn't feel much like smiling right now. He didn't feel much like Sam Winchester: Average-All-American-Ivy-Leaguer either. Right now, he was feeling much more like Sammy… and Sammy wanted his big brother… _now._

He swallowed hard and clenched his fists, closing his eyes against the rush of emotion that was threatening to overwhelm him.

It would take a few seconds, maybe even a few minutes… but "Sammy" would be pushed away, relegated to the part of himself that still noticed and _tensed _when something moved in the shadows, the part of him that still heard and _could distinguish _between the soft steps of a child, woman, or man; the part of himself that still dreamt of screaming, of blood, of fire…

The part of himself that he ignored.

Slowly he opened his eyes, drawing in a deep breath, and releasing it with a loud sigh.

Dean was the only person who could possibly understand how _amazing _it was that he was here… that he'd _done _this. That he was on his way to becoming a lawyer… to "normal."

In the darkness that surrounded him, in the stillness… without Jess's laughter or the teasing of his friends, Sam could admit that tonight had been a bust for him. He could admit that he could celebrate his accomplishments to high heaven and never feel the joy that Jess expected from, not until he got that swat on the back of the head and that beer...

Admit that no matter how many people, that no matter _who _expressed their delight at his choices, at his achievements; it would never mean as much as that one smirk and those three words…

But his brother's smirks and laughter, his teasing and gruff affection— they came with a price. The price of the supernatural— and Sam wasn't willing to pay it. Even now, even as he admitted to himself how much he _wanted _to see his brother, how much he _missed _him… he still wouldn't pay it.

He turned slowly, away from the road, and headed back up the street; his eyes still stinging and his throat burning with unshed tears.

He took another shaky breath, released another long sigh, and felt as _Sammy's _hold lessened; felt himself regain control.

But as he entered the building and went up the stairs, _Sammy _reached one last finger outwards and stroked a ripple of longing through Sam… longing that tonight… his phone would ring with an out-of-state-area code.

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-- The End --

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**_Please Review!_**

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